


The Last Time She Knelt

by AlphaOri



Series: The Potions Master's Pet [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Chasing, Detention, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Fluff, Kneeling, Lemon, Oral Sex, POV Hermione Granger, POV Severus Snape, Punishment, Questionable Underage, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teasing, tell me what to tag this lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-27 11:27:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18193985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaOri/pseuds/AlphaOri
Summary: The careful cultivation of his emotional graveyard threatened to fall to pieces as he pinned her down, gazing into her eyes while she flashed him image after image of what they could be doing to keep their heart rates elevated.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In two parts, complete.  
> Severus's perspective. This one is easier to read without context than my last, as it rehashes "The First Five Times She Knelt".  
> I just love him so much, god forgive me.

 

Hermione stumbled past the injured and the nurses of the hospital wing, through the throngs of mourning families and the crowds of celebrators.

 

She heaved herself up the stairs, past the debris that littered every inch of floor.

 

She wandered through the halls in a daze, the early morning light blazing orange through the windows she passed.

 

She climbed the winding staircase with the small glass vial clasped tight in her hand.

 

She tipped its contents into the basin, and didn’t hesitate even a moment before falling forward into it.

 

*   *                                                                                                                                   *   *

*                                                                                                                                         *

 

Severus Snape ignored the witch on the other side of his desk. She was fidgeting again, trying to avoid a crack in the pavers she was knelt upon. He continued to slice angry red marks across the papers he was grading.

 

She shouldn’t even be here, really. The Headmaster had asked him to take it easy on Potter this year – he had a growing concern that the boy shared a significant connection with the Dark Lord, and didn’t want to make the boy’s life harder than it already was and would be.

 

But Severus _hated_ the spawn, and it almost seemed as if the heathen _knew_ he couldn’t be punished anymore. The little shit had only gotten worse in his 5th year, full of teen angst and boiling hormones. Every little thing he did was practically tailor-made to annoy Severus.

 

But the Potion’s Master was a man of his word, and he grit his teeth against every perceived slight. It wasn’t until he had overheard Harry’s continued declarations – “ _Voldemort IS back! I saw him myself!”_ – that he had flown off the handle. The boy had no subtlety, and then the insufferable sidekick had gotten involved – “ _But Professor, you know it’s true…”_ – and he couldn’t contain himself anymore. He had given Granger detention for speaking out of turn, or at least it would look that way; in truth, it was because she should be smart enough to not go broadcasting his agenda all over the damn school. _What does she think SPY means?!_

 

The busybody in question was staring at him now, he could feel it. He turned his eyes to meet hers, inadvertently casting a wandless and wordless _Legilimens_ in the process.

 

_“Perhaps my knees will be frostbitten and fall off, and I’ll never have to do this again.”_

 

He couldn’t stop the scoff that escaped him at her thought. He went back to his grading and didn’t release her until 11:07 p.m.

 

*   *                                                                                                                                   *   *

*                                                                                                                                         *

 

He paused in his marking to watch her. She had been stretching a bit, perhaps close to dozing off, but he wasn’t going to let her lift her knees for even a moment. She settled back into position and he went back to grading, his mind whirling in anger.

 

James’ stupid offspring had managed to breach Severus’s walls, which had thrown him. Never in a million years would he have guessed the boy capable of such an act, particularly when he was so exceedingly terrible at Occluding his own thoughts.

 

But then, when he had left the room for mere minutes, the little bastard had looked into the pensieve _filled with his memories_.

 

Even looking back on it, a week in the past now, Severus was practically shaking with rage.

 

The event had turned Severus into a vortex of retribution. He was holding at least two detentions every evening these days, and was setting records for points taken in one week. Then Granger had vanished Potter’s Invigoration Draught, and he had latched on like a leech. He would have been pleased to see Harry’s fuming face if he wasn’t so pleased for the excuse to punish at least one of the so-called Golden Trio.

 

The kneeling thing was a brilliant snub, he thought. Naïve, trusting little Hermione Granger couldn’t possibly know the connotations of telling her to _kneel_ before him in submission. The first time had been such fun he had hardly been able to wait for the next opportunity.

 

Sure, he was a complete asshole and probably a bit perverted for it, but it’s not like he was _getting off_ on seeing her like this. There was just some sort of divine pleasure to be taken in seeing the Gryffindor Princess knocked down a few pegs. And it was just humiliating enough that she would never admit it to anyone, so no one would ever suspect the non-existent depraved aspects anyway.

 

She was looking at him again, he knew, so he resolutely ignored her in the hopes it would piss her off. Instead, she went eerily still and stayed that way for the rest of the evening.

 

The clock continued its forward march, heedless of his frustration at her lack thereof.

 

*   *                                                                                                                                   *   *

*                                                                                                                                         *

 

She was doing it again – wriggling. It was just distracting enough that he lost his train of thought mid-sentence. She went blessedly still again after a moment and he regained his momentum, though his heart was no longer in mocking his students’ ineptitude.

 

He had noticed her presence more often, lately. He had begun to wonder if she weren’t following him about the castle, but he had enough experience with paranoia _and_ danger to know she didn’t mean any harm if she were.

 

Or she hadn’t, until that morning when she had smacked into him headfirst in the corridor. The dumb bint had taken him by complete surprise – quite the feat – and managed to land herself hard on her own rear end. He gave her the detention quickly, not wanting to risk anyone seeing how greatly it pleased him to do so.

 

And it did, strange as it was. He had looked forward to commanding her again, though he was still positive he shouldn’t enjoy it so much – no, he shouldn’t enjoy it _at all_.

 

He was, however, still confident that his coworkers (and hopefully most of the students) would never assume anything indecent of the punishment. After all, it was practically perfect for Hermione “Perfect Prefect” Granger. She was too much of a bossy bitch to be comfortable being out of control like this, and too proud to not be humiliated by it. Both of these things meant that being asked to sit perfectly still and silent for more than 60 seconds were nigh impossible for her.

 

Though he was impressed at her resolve to do just that.

 

This thought gave him pause. She was obviously a pigheaded, officious little know-it-all, but even she couldn’t possibly be this good at enduring something she hated. She couldn’t possibly be this good at it precisely _because_ she was all those things.

 

He gave her a quick glance through the curtain of his hair. She was sitting stone still, eyes straight ahead, clearly lost in thought. He was tempted to make a sudden movement to catch her gaze and take a quick peek into her thoughts, but resisted.

 

He was tempted to tell her to sit back on her heels so she’d be more comfortable.

 

He felt his cheeks go warm at the thought. _The fuck was that?_ He swallowed hard, hoping the act would clear his mouth of the foul taste of benevolence.

 

Then she giggled, and he whipped his head around fast enough to send a shooting pain down his spine.

 

Her eyes met his and she lost her small grin immediately, clearly horrified she had giggled out loud. He was just about to lose himself to his wrath, certain whatever had caused her to giggle had been at his expense, when he once again unintentionally saw into her mind.

 

Hands – _my hands!_ – were entwining themselves into her unruly, bushy hair. They made their way down her delicate neck, wrapping around for just a moment before continuing on, downward, between her breasts, below to her stomach…

 

He shoved himself free of her thoughts so quickly he felt dizzy. She had a curious quirk to one side of her mouth, like she had actually felt his hands _and liked it_.

 

For a moment he was furious. This was obviously some trick meant to embarrass him, or entrap him, or…

 

He saw her kneeling there, panic starting to flit across her features, and started to form a new picture in his mind. _Could it be…_

 

He stood quickly, not willing to give it thought yet, certainly not in her presence. He was in front of her in a heartbeat, commanding her, “Stand.”

 

She tipped forward as she complied, but he caught her by the elbows to stabilize her. Once she’d found her feet and seemed steady, he raced away to the storeroom. He needed to get her out of there quickly, but couldn’t let her go without some sort of peace offering, just in case. _Not after what she just gave me… if it wasn’t a trick._

 

He strode out of the storeroom again, ointment in hand, and thrust it at her awkwardly.

 

“Apply this to your knees before bed, and again in the morning if they are still sore. You are dismissed.”

 

He turned before she could reply and practically flew to his private chambers. The slamming of the door behind him echoed in his mind as he tried to catch his breath and slow his heartbeat.

 

There was a chance that Hermione Granger was getting off on the very thing he had been sure wasn’t at all sexual on his end. The thought alone opened a floodgate, and he suddenly pictured her there, in her school uniform ( _pervert!_ ), kneeling before him ( _letch!_ ), mouth pouting until her lips opened slowly to receive him ( _deviant degenerate!_ ).

 

He took himself in hand three times before passing out that night, violently drunk by the end, each new thought of Hermione sending him deeper down the spiraling void of self-loathing, shame and need.

 

*   *                                                                                                                                  *   *

*                                                                                                                                         *

 

Severus had experienced many varying forms of depression in his life, but the week following the Ministry was a new low. He was getting it from all sides – the Death Eaters were even more loathe to trust him than they already had been, the Dark Lord was furious at Malfoy’s ineptitude, and Dumbledore was now gearing up for all-out war.

 

He was positively manic over the thought of the students gone to the Ministry on their own. He was dejected to think that not even Hermione had thought well enough of him to know he wouldn’t let Harry’s worries – _They’ve got Padfoot where its hidden_ – go unheeded.

 

He had been seeing to his duties, light and dark alike, in a haze of ire and gloom. He’d begun to feel like Moses as he stalked through the castle’s corridors, students parting before him lest they get caught in his wake.

 

Only Hermione would pass him as if he were just another Professor. She would tilt her head in greeting as he passed, or, _can you believe it_ , send a small smile his way. He was almost glad to see her out of the hospital wing, well and whole if not a bit shook up.

 

But no - he would have to stubbornly shoved aside all thoughts of her even bordering on demonstrative. It didn’t do to think of her as he already did – _beneath me, writhing_ – and it certainly wouldn’t do to think of her amorously. No, instead he would stick to what he knew: loathing.

 

So she’d nod or smile and he would scowl and growl. But no matter how many times he’d attempt to radiate hatred her way, their eyes would meet and he’d catch glimpses of her in increasingly disturbing positions.

 

Some were downright filthy, and he’d castigate himself later with either his own right hand or the coldest shower possible. Some were almost tender, and somehow made him angrier for the lump that would form in his throat.

 

He was almost looking forward to a summer that would almost definitely include mortal danger. At least the Dark Lord’s serpentine eyes never gave him flashes of pleasure just out of his reach.

 

He was making his rounds the last evening of term, thrilled to be so close to freedom from the intolerable students and striking Granger, when he came upon a 7th year Hufflepuff and 6th year Gryffindor in a compromising position. He was elated with the excuse for cruelty.

 

“Miss Taylor, Mister Schmidt. To think, I had imagined my chances for admonishment were over for the school year.“

 

The couple made a sickeningly wet sound as they parted, their fear evident in their bug-eyed expressions.

 

“I’m afraid it’s too late for taking points, but rest assured I will remember this… tryst… come autumn.”

 

They had the decency to appear properly ashamed of themselves as they chorused a “Yes, Professor Snape.”

 

It hit him all at once that they were not alone in the corridor. It was thanks to the long-imbued sense of someone always expecting a knife in his back that he became aware of another living soul behind him. It was thanks to his potioneer’s nose that he knew it was Hermione – the soft scent of roses and almond blossoms reached him from some distance.

 

“Be gone, now.” He barked, pleased with how quickly they complied. He watched them scurry away as he considered what to do with the witch lurking behind him.

 

He had worked very hard at not scrutinizing his feelings about the girl, but he had not been able to stop the deluge of ideas of things he’d like to do with her – _to her_.

 

As he turned to make his way towards her, he considered which of these might be most innocent, and which might best alleviate some of the tension he’d been steadily building over the weeks.

 

“Miss Granger, why are you lurking about with only… Three minutes, 37 seconds left to curfew?” He asked with a cursory glance at a self-created time spell emanating from his wand.

 

She stepped into the light of the lit torches lining the walls, radiant and wild as he’d ever seen her.

 

“I was just on my way to Gryffindor tower, Sir.”

 

She didn’t meet his eyes, staring doggedly at the floor. He felt his anger spike – weeks of treating him like he was more than the Greasy Bat of the Dungeons, now back to this trepidation? She moved her weight from foot to foot while he glared at her, ire growing.

 

“Let us see if you can make it there in time, Miss Granger, _without being caught_. Two minutes, 49 seconds.”

 

He expected some questions or confusion, and readied a mental list of cutting remarks. Instead, she took off like a lightening bolt, racing away from him the way she had come.

 

For a moment he was shocked enough to not move, before remembering the whole point of the challenge. He turned on his heel and paced down the corridor, making the last turn before the Gryffindor corridor.

 

He glanced at the Fat Lady as he passed – she gave him a polite nod before continuing to kip off in her frame, cheeks flushed from painted wine. He cast a _Muffliato_ in her direction nonetheless. _Just in case_.

 

He stood at the end of the hallway, ears pricked for any noise. It wasn’t long before he heard the footfalls coming his way, panting breath huffing in time to the strides.

 

As she rounded the corner he caught her hard, gripping her upper arms roughly. He hoped it would help him keep his hands still upon her.

 

“My, my. So close… and with thirteen seconds to spare.”

 

She met his gaze, plainly hurt by her failure. Then he saw a flash of shame, the realization that she hadn’t grasped his trick of beating her to this very spot. A feeling of overwhelming guilt shot through him, and he suddenly felt like he’d be sick.

 

“If I wished to humiliate you, I would do so with an audience.”

 

_Great job, dumbass. Real nice save._

 

“No, your humiliation is of no interest to me, at least not anymore. I found myself curious after your last detention what you would look like flushed and out of breath.”

 

Apparently that was the correct thing to say – she stopped breathing. He almost followed suit, loosing his grip ever so slightly. Her open, trusting face gazed up at him as she took in a great lungful of air. It took every ounce of self-restraint to not kiss the recovered oxygen out of her

 

He realized abruptly the danger he was in – the true danger, none of this spy nonsense. Not even the danger of being found-out for having carnal thoughts about a student, no - Severus Snape was in danger of actually pursuing this woman with quixotic intent. _Yes, quixotic – romantic and unrealistic. Get it together man!_

 

If he couldn’t control these impractically idealistic impulses, he’d have to stop. And he absolutely did not want to do that.

 

“It appears, Miss Granger, that you are now out past curfew.”

 

He released her arms, the loss landing like a physical blow to his stomach.

 

“When you enter your dormitory, you will draw the curtains around your bed and kneel upon it for two hours. If you do not…”

 

He met her eyes, trying to convey the support he needed. _Please work with me here - help me control this_.

 

“… I will know.”

 

He shot the counter _Muffliato_ at the Fat Lady as he left her there, unwilling to face her big brown eyes any longer lest he take her to _his_ bed instead.


	2. Chapter 2

*   *                                                                                                                                   *   *

*                                                                                                                                         *

 

His summer was a whirlwind of planning and anguish. Every step forward in their fight against the Dark Lord was accompanied by reservations, pain, and fear. Dumbledore, in all his wisdom, had picked up the blasted ring that practically reeked of curse, signing his own death warrant.

 

It had been somewhat useful, of course, knowing his death would _mean_ something, particularly if Severus himself had to commit the fatal act. He had felt confident and pleased with his charade as he made the unbreakable vow to Narcissa. But as the final tendrils of magic bound him to his promise, he imagined dark brown eyes glaring at him in disgust as he cut the old man down.

 

The thought of killing Albus Dumbledore had not disturbed him, not even briefly. The thought of Hermione looking on him as the executioner of their staunchest defender… Well, it was difficult to stomach.

 

He found himself drawn to the Burrow more and more as the weeks stretched on. The first visit had been on Order business –genuinely, none of this making-excuses-to-see-her rubbish. But he had pocketed a small book on advanced potion brewing techniques as he left Spinner’s End, hoping it wouldn’t be too out of the blue _or_ obvious.

 

He had spoken with Molly as quickly as possible, eager to escape the slapdash house. He strode into the garden with purpose, hoping none of the present Weasleys would think twice about Hermione receiving a book as a gift, even from someone as disagreeable as himself.

 

He slowed as he neared her; she was sitting on a bench among the overgrown weeds, a book in her lap but her eyes on the pond that was more algae than water. The early afternoon sun framed her in a halo of light, and Severus found it had inexplicably become much hotter than when he had arrived.

 

As he approached she turned to face him, and rather than puzzlement or repulsion marring her pretty features, she lit up at the sight of him.

 

He was quite used to anger and hatred. These darker emotions had become run-of-the-mill and everyday for him. The feeling that swept into his gut as she smiled up at him was decidedly not anger or hatred, but something much more terrifying.

 

He found himself wanting to cry, unsure of why he’d feel such a thing at the sight of her glowing, trusting face.

 

Instead he tried to force down the ramparts of his heart, those ever-present walls that kept out any weakness. He thrust the book at her irritably.

 

“You will read this before I return in a week’s time. Study it carefully.”

 

She seemed perplexed but didn’t hesitate to take the tome from him. “Yes, Sir.”

 

The honorific, used hundreds of times before, unexpectedly tapped against his heart’s fortifications like knuckles upon a door. _Stop it, old man. She’s always called you Sir; it’s nothing to do with the… whatever it is you two have been doing together._

 

He was going to leave her then, as quickly as he could, before he embarrassed himself anymore. But she turned her face up to him again, shielding her eyes from the warm sun.

 

“A week’s time? Can you not return sooner?”

 

This time he almost did begin sobbing, mortified that the smallest amount of warmth from this witch could move him so.

 

It would be easier, he decided, to ignore the way she made him felt. There was too much at stake, he was too vital to the grand plan to be weakened by this damnable _tenderness_ blooming in his soul. He would have to distract himself somehow, though he obviously couldn’t fuck her – even if she was of age now, assuming his calculations of her time-turner use were correct ( _of course they are_ ).

 

The kneeling was fun, but put her in a – _ahem_ \- tempting position. The chase had been exciting, though it hadn’t been much of a chase on his part. _Perhaps a genuine game is in order._

 

So he had growled it out, frustration darkening his voice and eyes. _Run, Miss Granger._

 

She had complied so beautifully – leaping from the bench like a deer, darting through the brush and into the fields neighboring the Weasley property. And he had chased her, forcing himself not to _literally_ fly after her, though he swore his feet lifted off the ground on several occasions.

 

As it happened, he did return sooner. Three days later in fact.

 

And then he returned nine more times over the summer.

 

The visits all followed the same pattern – _For safety, no need to deviate from what works._

 

He would arrive and conclude his business with whichever Order members were present at the house as quickly as possible. This wasn’t difficult as most of the business he arrived to discuss was completely fabricated and unnecessary to deliberate over at all. If anyone at the Burrow had qualms about his sudden desire to chat about every immaterial aspect of Order affairs, they certainly never mentioned it, thank god.

 

He would then excuse himself into the garden. He would find Hermione, who was always waiting for him, and they would stroll out into one of the adjacent fields while he quizzed her on whichever book he had last loaned her.

 

She would answer his questions with rote memorization of passages from each text. He would mock her incompetence at intellectual interpretation, hiding any evidence that he was at all impressed. He would give her plenty of opportunity to make her case or take him to task for his cruelty, but she would only serenely smile at him, as if pleased to receive his criticisms.

 

This would make him so painfully hard that he’d have to give in and say it – _Run!_ – Just so he wouldn’t throw her down and have his way with her. And so she would run, and he would chase her, thrilling in the flush of her skin and the squeals of joy she’d make when he caught her.

 

During one chase, he let her run for long enough that she slowed to a walk, not sure he was even still chasing her. He crept along near her, hiding in the tree line to her right, watching her growing concern that he wasn’t around.

 

She must have expected him to come up behind her, for she turned suddenly as if to catch him in the act. He took the opportunity to step into her path, and when she turned to take off, ran right into his arms. She practically screamed with shock, and it filled him with joy; he wanted so badly to make her scream, after all.

 

Another day, he flew after her, constantly on her heels, letting his fingertips ghost along her skin and hair, not wanting the fun to end. Neither one were watching where they ran, which led to Hermione practically diving into one of the many mires of standing water surrounding the Burrow’s land. It was such an abrupt reality check in the midst of ethereal excitement that he couldn’t help but double over in laughter. Her expression was so putout that he laughed harder, couldn’t _help_ but laugh harder, and soon she was laughing too. The contagious glee was only stopped by the sight of her wet shirt gone sheer, a vision so enticing he had to excuse himself almost immediately.

 

The best chase of all ended when he came at her from the side, the force of their impact so intense that they tumbled over into the tall grass until he had her pinned beneath him, breathless. The careful cultivation of his emotional graveyard threatened to fall to pieces as he pinned her down, gazing into her eyes while she flashed him image after image of what they could be doing to keep their heart rates elevated.

 

The idea of chasing his partners had always appealed to him, though he’d never had the opportunity before. His typical conquests only lasted so long as the act, and his targets rarely desired any foreplay from him. He had always imagined the hunt would fill him with that insatiable, powerful feeling he’d had when he first took the Mark. The fear of his victims would remind him that he _should_ be feared.

 

But with Hermione he found it wasn’t a power play at all; the unadulterated joy of pursuing someone who wanted to be pursued was intoxicating. The barricades he’d built all but fell when she whispered this notion back to him – _I win when you catch me_.

 

As the summer drew to a close, he knew he had to find some modicum of restraint. He gave her a harried list of rules they would follow upon their return to Hogwarts, but he feared he wouldn’t be strong enough to follow them himself. In a last-ditch effort to keep his composure he’d made the most important rule of all – _you will not touch me_. Feeling her against him was the most out of control he’d ever felt, so it absolutely could not continue at the school.

 

However, ensconced behind the walls of the castle once more, he found the mere sight of her to be too much of a temptation. Returning to Hogwarts was like waking from the most blissful dream he’d ever had, only to realize he was living… Well, his actual life. The pull of Hermione was only made worse by the fact that the Weasley boy was beginning to take notice of her. He became increasingly concerned that she would realize, sooner rather than later, that she could have what she wanted from the redhead without all the baggage of the illicit affair she’d have with Severus.

 

Then the Katie Bell incident happened – what an absolute nightmare. He was certain Draco would push The Dumbledore Problem upon him with far more haste than he’d hoped. The whole thing was really testing his resolve. It was only a matter of time before Hermione realized he was a lecherous old pervert, but what would she think of him after he killed the ancient geezer?

 

He was brooding over just this on one of his nightly rounds when he walked headlong into the girl. He wasn’t sure what to say – his heart was doing summersaults while his brain was roaring nasty insults – when she burst out crying.

 

Severus had not dealt with many crying women before, at least not without causing the tears himself. He was so at a loss of what to do that he acted without thinking. He snaked his hand under her hair and onto the back of her neck, thrilling at the feeling of her pulse beneath his fingers, and began to guide her towards the dungeons.

 

She continued to hiccup and weep as they made their way through the castle, fortunate to not meet another person along their path. By the time they reached his office she was quieting down, but he thought she might benefit from some reflection before trying to explain whatever it was that had her in this state, so he gently ordered her to kneel.

 

She complied, and he was pleased to see she had taken up a true kneeling position this time, bum resting on calves. He was half tempted to ask her to clasp her hands behind her back, maybe even spread her knees, but thought better of it when he saw her still-bloodshot eyes.

 

He pretended to read for a bit while she calmed herself, unable to stop himself from admiring her through his hair. After some time, when her breath no longer hitched, he set the book down and stood before her, leaning against his desk.

 

“What had you so upset, pet?”

 

He hadn’t meant to say it, it just felt right.

 

“Why haven’t you spoken to me since summer?” She blurted, meeting his eyes.

 

The question knocked a substantial breath from his chest. He was reminded forcibly of how young and trusting she was.

 

“Never mind, I… I didn’t mean to…”

 

“No, Hermione, it is a very reasonable question. I assumed that distance would be the best way to contain myself. I did not mean for it to hurt you.”

 

She nodded, brows knit. “Then why make the rules in the first place?”

 

He took a deep breath, steeling himself to explain as best he could. “The first two, out of some wishful thinking… Or to cover my arse.”

A quick smirk flashed across her perfect lips, so he continued on quickly before the urge to kiss her was too great.

 

“The third, because I know my own weaknesses.”

 

She was quiet for a moment, and then asked, “Am I a weakness?”

 

He didn’t hesitate, the answer already formed. “Yes, pet, you most assuredly are. It was never my intention to afford you any affection, and yet…” He looked at her sitting there, kneeling like the perfect plaything, gazing at him with absolute abandon in her eyes. “Well, you’ve put me in a difficult position, to say the least.”

 

She shifted on her heels. “This is my fault?”

 

He crossed his arms across his chest, trying to make his incredulity sound less like a scoff. “You haven’t helped. This was originally meant to be a punishment, if you recall.”

 

She frowned at this. “Well it was, at first. But you should have realized that might change.”

 

He couldn’t stop a genuine laugh from escaping. “I should have realized that Hermione Granger, insufferable know it all and dyed-in-the-wool good girl, was going to take to discipline like a grindylow to water? That you would take to _me_ at all?”

 

He _really_ hadn’t meant to say that. It was far, far too vulnerable, all his barricades fallen under her quizzical gaze. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but shut it just as quickly. She gave him the kind of look he was used to from dunderheads like Neville Longbottom – like he’d asked her to build him a spaceship out of nothing but quills and dirt. The moment stretched long enough that he began to panic, an irritable feeling steeling over him. He didn’t mean to invade her mind, it was so second nature to him – but what he saw drove stakes through his twisted, black heart.

 

The absolute fool thought herself in love with him.

 

It flashed behind her eyes like a film reel – memories of her knelt before him, prostrated by his attention; running before him, overwhelmed with his desire; touching herself at night, debilitated by her need.

 

She stood so suddenly he couldn’t help but reach out to catch her – a good thing, as her legs almost failed her. He opened his mouth to admonish her, out of shock more than anything, when her mouth was suddenly on his.

 

Whatever was left of his defenses crumbled beneath her soft lips, and he wondered through the haze of ecstasy if this wasn’t the exact moment the universe should end, having culminated in nirvana.

 

It was over as soon as it began, and as they parted, only a breath apart, she ran her hands down his chest. He felt his own heartbeat drum against her delicate fingers. He met her eyes again and knew that he was hopelessly, ridiculously, _desperately_ in love with her.

 

“We can’t continue this, I know. Not now, while I’m still a student and you… While you remain in a precarious position. But I think you should know – I think you _need_ to know – “

 

He barely heard her, though he was tempted to shout _I do know, and me too!_ , but settled for kissing her again instead, hoping that would get the point across.

 

He dug his fingers into her hair, pulling her head back, opening her mouth with his lips and diving in. She was so pliable and perfect, moaning into his throat as pressed his body to hers, careless of his straining erection. It didn’t scare her off – she lifted onto her toes, fighting against him for leverage, dragging her whole perfect body against him, wrangling a groan from him as her pelvis lined up against him.

 

He was so ready to take her right there on his desk that he grasped a handful of her hair tightly, pulling her back just far enough that he could whisper against her lips.

 

“Hermione Granger, when I am free, you will have all of me. You will, in fact, be hard pressed to rid yourself of my attentions.”

 

She sighed against his mouth, making his cock twitch. “I’ll do anything you ask if you make that a promise.”

 

He beamed a real, genuine smile before placing one last kiss at the corner of her mouth. “I promise, pet. When we are free.”

 

*

 

He placed a few more choice kisses along her cheeks and temple before sending her away. He would be summoned in the coming days or weeks, and he couldn’t let this fall into the wrong hands – _Or any hands_.

 

He would organize these memories, and all the others he’d gained over the summer, and keep them clear in his mind that they could be taken out at a moment’s notice. It was the only way – he couldn’t leave them lying around all the time ( _not with blasted Potter about_ ), but he certainly couldn’t let the Dark Lord or Dumbledore know he had a new Achilles’ heel.

 

And sorting through the material would help with his current carnal discomfort, hopefully several times before bed.

 

*   *                                                                                                                                   *   *

*                                                                                                                                         *

 

They both did an admirable job of avoiding one another over the coming weeks, though each glimpse into her sordid mind gave Severus hours worth of wank material. It was nice to know he wasn’t alone in his longing.

 

He was a bit disheartened to see that Weasley was still eyeing Hermione constantly, when he wasn’t stuck mouth to mouth with Miss Brown. Worse still, the little shit McLaggen had started trailing behind her in public spaces, as if he were waiting for the opportunity to jump her.

 

He wasn’t worried. He had seen her fondness for him in every look she sent his way, every glance over her shoulder as they passed in the corridors, every subtle straightening of her back as he looked her way in class.

 

And then there she was, McLaggen in tow, at Slughorn’s intolerable hols travesty. He watched the letch harangue the poor girl from one side of the room and back again, growing more and more agitated.

 

He hadn’t expected her to come with anyone, though he supposed it made sense. Why wouldn’t she? All the students were allowed a guest; it would be strange if she hadn’t brought one. He absolutely refused to call it a date.

 

By the third time he almost hexed the boy, he knew he would either need to put a stop to the charade or excuse himself from the gathering. He marked her movements as she escaped McLaggen’s attentions and slipped into an alcove, before quickly ducking in behind her.

 

“Granger,” he growled it, hoping his annoyance came through. Her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink.

 

“Professor. I hope you’re having a lovely evening.”

 

He quirked an eyebrow, but refused to meet her eyes. “I am not, as it happens. Though I am pleased you seem to be.”

 

“On the contrary, Sir. I’m a bit too old for hide-and-seek,” she sighed, before adding, under her breath, “Plus it’s tiresome being the only one hiding.”

 

He measured these words, memories of their summer flashing through his mind. He turned to her, still refusing to meet her eyes lest she show him those same memories.

 

“As I recall, you quite enjoy being hunted.”

 

She shivered slightly, her pulse visibly jumping in her neck. He resisted the urge to put his mouth to it, but it was a close thing.

 

“By the proper hunter… Sir.”

 

He felt his cock twitch in time with lurch in his heart. He finally met her eyes, knowing how reckless it was. He leaned in ever so slightly, the edges of his robes brushing against her ankles.

 

“I should order you to crawl from this alcove, Miss Granger,” he exhaled, “That the whole school would know what a good pet you make.”

 

Then he was unceremoniously pulled from the alcove, missing the chance to see her pretty blush or – _what a dream_ – smell her excitement. The company of the new Potions Master was torture in comparison to those few stolen moments with her, but he begrudgingly stood still to not draw attention to himself. _As soon as I can sneak off, I will. And what a time I will have, alone in my chambers, imagining the noises she’d make as I stripped her of that stunning dress_.

 

He listened to Slughorn prattle on, aware that Hermione herself was preparing to leave. He hated to see her leave, but was thankful McLaggen no longer seemed to be sniffing around her.

 

“MY GOD, I’VE LOST AN EARRING!”

 

The proclamation was louder than any other voice, and much of the party’s din quieted down to look her way. He was wondering why this was announcement needed to be given to the entire gathering when she turned and met his eyes.

 

His heart stopped beating when he saw what she was thinking. It was his own fault really – _what a good pet you make_ – of course she wanted to please him. The notion made him furious with her poor judgment and _so fucking turned on_ that she would even consider it.

 

She was lowering to her knees, and he was pretty sure he was furiously shaking his head “no”, but she didn’t stop. She got onto all fours and crawled towards him – _towards him!_ – as if there was no one else in the room.

 

He took four quick strides to her side before hauling her up to her feet. For a brief moment he was afraid he might just bend her over a table and have done with it, onlookers be damned, but his anger thankfully took over. He managed to growl out “Detention. Tomorrow, seven p.m.”, before fleeing the party as quickly as possible, sure that even his billowing robes wouldn’t hide his interest in her.

 

The next 24 hours passed in such a hurry he wondered if he hadn’t somehow blacked out for a portion of the day. His mind was so firmly stuck on Hermione’s impending detention that he barely retained any recollection of what the day had contained.

 

At seven sharp she knocked on the door. He let her in with a swish of his wand before closing it close on her heels behind her, locking it tight.

 

He’d given it a lot of thought. She needed to know that, while he was pleased with her interpretation of his statement, what she had done was incredibly dangerous and foolhardy for both of them. And that, though he would now like to bend her over his knee and spank her bum raw, he would most likely not be able to stop himself coming on her if he did. Also, where had she learned to push all his buttons in just the most delicious ways? _No, shut up, focus!_

 

He shot a silencing charm at her before she could speak, just in case whatever she said made him kiss her again. She just blinked those big doe eyes.

 

“Kneel, Miss Granger.”

 

He was already growing hard, thinking of her settling before him on her knees, when a small shiver of fear went through her expression, quickly replaced by anger. He wondered if there wasn’t something deeply wrong with him, that her fury made all his blood leave one head and fill another. _How divine is she, my wrathful goddess._

 

She shook her head no, so he darkened his gaze. Here they were, acting like they were struggling for control, when she’d held it all from the moment he first realized he loved her.

 

“ _Now._ ”

 

She took a deep breath like she was going to go on a tirade, despite her voiceless condition. He met her eyes and acquiesced to a _Legilimens_.

 

_I came here to apologize you self-righteous ass, because I did a dumb thing and I regret it, and now I can’t even say I’m sorry?! I wasn’t thinking, clearly, and all I wanted to do was please you - after all it was YOU who said “I should order you to crawl”, and you can’t possibly understand what that did to me, after being so distant for so long, and I KNOW that we agreed to wait, and I KNOW it’s still the only thing we can do, but I LOVE YOU, dammit, and how am I supposed to pretend everything’s fine when I can’t go a day without imagining your hands on me or your lips on mine, or your mouth on my –_

 

He thought he might pass out from the lack of blood in his brain, so he commanded, quickly, “Sit, Miss Granger. Here.” He motioned to his desk, devoid of its usual clutter – he did love to be prepared after all, just in case.

 

It took her some time to make her way over and sit, clearly wary of his intentions, but when she was finally positioned before him he pushed her back onto the dark wood, admiring the way her hair fanned out. He stood before her, positively pained from the straining in his pants, and said amicably, “I find myself unable to deny you what you want, pet.”

 

He began to kneel before her. He wasn’t sure what else to do – she was not skilled in occlumency, so he couldn’t tell her outright lest someone wrench it from her mind. He knelt between her legs, smirking at the resistance she put up when he tried to spread them. She sat up, and he caught her eye – she wasn’t unwilling, just inexperienced. _I can work with that love, don’t worry._

 

He wandlessly pushed her back into conjured pillows. _Be comfortable, pet. Let me show you if I can’t tell you_.

 

He slid his hands up her thighs, still tense but not fighting to close. He fingered the edge of her skirt as he slowly lifted it up – to reveal dark green silk knickers.

 

“Hermione…” he sighed, momentarily overwhelmed. It was a silly, girlish notion that he would want her dressed in Slytherin colors, as if she weren’t spectacular in any shade. And yet, as he looked at the emerald hue against her soft skin, he felt years fall away as if he were just a boy himself.

 

He glanced up at her and saw her distress, still unsure of herself. “Don’t be afraid, pet. You are perfect. These - _This_ is perfect.”

 

He brushed a finger against her center, barely skimming the silk fabric that hid her from his view, and lifted her skirt far enough to uncover the whole undergarment. Their eyes met again, and he saw her thought – _I forgot._

 

He smirked, truly pleased. “I’m glad you did.”

 

He couldn’t wait any longer – he pulled them off in one sweep and placed them gently, reverently, to his side. When he turned back to her, she had her knees held tightly together.

 

“Open, Hermione. Let me see you.”

 

She visibly hesitated, so he waited patiently. _There’s no rush, darling. Damn them all – Say the word and we’ll go to my bed and never see the light of day again, Dark Lord and Chosen One and Dumbledore be damned. You are all that matters_ , _my love_.

 

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she spread her legs. He turned his head, eyes staying on her opening, and kissed her right knee. He made his way a few kisses towards his goal before realizing he should pay the proper reverence to the other leg as well. He trailed kisses and nips up her thighs, nearing his destination both too quickly and far too slowly. He wasn’t sure exactly how long one was supposed to worship at the altar of their chosen divinity, but decided he would do it forever if she’d let him.

 

She was trembling as he neared, so he glanced up at her to make sure she was okay. Her wide eyes stared down at him, her astonishment and wonder evident. She gave him a small nod, to which he smiled before closing his eyes and kissing her lips.

 

He started with gentle kisses and a soft tongue across her outer labia, not wanting to move too quickly for what he was now certain was her first experience like this. He took his time getting to know every inch of her entrance, silently praying he’d get the chance to visit again.

 

He pressed his tongue gently to her clit, then flicked it, then couldn’t stand it any longer and took it between his lips. As he adjusted his pressure, glancing at her expression to gauge her response, he moved his finger to her opening. _So fucking wet! For me!_

 

He breathed out in a huff at this evidence, which she seemed to like ( _never forget it, old man!_ ), before pushing his finger inside of her. Before he realized what was happening, she arched up, and her hands were in his hair, and he moaned into her, covering her mons with his mouth. She made some silent plea before collapsing back again, and he couldn’t help but grin up at her as he placed a kiss to her swollen clitoris.

 

She met his gaze, all wild hair and lust filled eyes, stunning as Aphrodite. Her jumbled thoughts made some kind of shape that looked like _Don’t-keep-stop-doing that!_ But had the sheen of pure satisfaction surrounding it, so he _didn’t-stop-keep-doing_ just that.

 

He pressed the pad of his finger firmly inside her, curling it down towards himself and pressing hard against the spongy tissue just past her entrance. The face she made as her orgasm swept through her was the most heavenly thing he’d ever seen, like the birth of a whole galaxy from an exploding star. He kissed her as she came down, savoring each taste, terrified he might never know it again.

 

The thought made him remember his goal – _need her to understand!_ He stood without any preamble, wrapping his still-slick fingers around her throat as her eyes shot open. He crashed against her, lips pleading with her to feel his love. He pulled back to see what she was thinking, if the message was conveyed; Obviously she had felt his love, though maybe not in the kiss. She squeezed her knees at his hips, pressing his straining dick against her bare sex. He groaned, not able to stop his childish grin as he pushed against her.

 

Torn between his need to tell her what she should already know and his need to _fucking fuck her already_ , he met her eyes again, preparing to speak. He saw her desire there – _do this forever, again and again and again_.

 

He slowed his rocking movements, hand loosening slightly at her throat.

 

“Again… Forever. Would you, love?”

 

He hadn’t meant to say it, but it was what he meant. Her eyes filled with unfathomable adoration and she motioned to her throat. He released the charm.

 

“If you’d have me, Sir.”

 

He went still, his thumb tracing the edge of her jaw as he looked at the love in her eyes.

 

“Don’t I, already?”

 

She beamed at him, her breath hitching and her eyes welling.

 

“Yes, Severus. Always.”

 

*   *                                                                                                                                   *   *

*                                                                                                                                         *

 

Severus held his hand to his neck, spluttering blood with each rasping breath. _I would have liked to see her, one last time_.

 

Then he knew he was truly dying, for there she was. He’d never wished for something and actually gotten it before… Well, besides her attentions, affections, associations… _Ass_. He tried not to giggle, but the blood loss was making it difficult.

 

She knelt before him, saying something unintelligible. The Potter boy was there too, little pest that he was. _Oh, and good, Ronald fucking Weasley. Perfect._

 

Her hands were on his face, and he marveled how prettily she knelt, even now when she must surely think him a murderer. She was still speaking garbled words, but there were tears pouring from her eyes now. _Oh right, I’m dying._

 

“Hermionchhh…” He tried, then stopped.

 

He tried again. “I… Take it. Take it…”

 

The wisps of memories flowed from him as easily as her tears fell from her eyes. _After all the walls and protections, it is nice to let them just… go._

 

Suddenly he could hear her quite clearly, and she was sobbing hysterically. She stoppered the bottle and passed it to Harry quickly. He focused on her face, her beautiful eyes, and tried once more.

 

“Now these, pet.”

 

More memories, different memories, every memory of her since her first kneeling detention. He poured his emotions into these, praying to any god that would listen that she’d feel what he felt, know how much she meant to him.

 

When he was empty, he lifted a hand gently to her face, traced a line along her jaw, and met her eyes. _I do love you, Hermione Granger._

 

*   *                                                                                                                                   *   *

*                                                                                                                                         *

 

Hermione resurfaced from the Pensieve, fresh tears leaving trails down her dirt-covered cheeks.

 

She made her way back down the corridors and staircases of Hogwarts. She was still needed in the infirmary, after all.

 

It had been 37 hours since Voldemort was killed, and many of the injured had been moved to St. Mungo’s already. The few that remained had either not been in a state to be moved earlier, or hadn’t been injured badly enough to warrant the trip.

 

There was still a flurry of activity in the ward. She made her way through the masses, stepping out of the way of those working, and neared the far side of the wing.

 

She sat down by the cot, took his hand in hers.

 

“You’re free now, Severus. So I need you to come back to me, love. I can’t let that be the last time I knelt for you.”

 

He was moved to St. Mungo’s the next day, but did not awake for three more weeks. The nurses were somewhat surprised at his first waking word; it was as if he knew which former student had sat at his bedside during his entire stay. No one thought to question why the now-exonerated spy would wake from a three-week coma, having nearly died, to whisper tenderly, as one might to a lover, “Hermione.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kind words y'all have left me on my other fics in this series. 
> 
> I think this is my favorite, though least edited of them all so far. It's damn hard to write from his grouchy perspective, but soooo fun!  
> As always, please send corrections my way.
> 
> UPDATE: I have two other fics in the works, both Sevmione, though neither set in this series. I'm in the market for a beta if anyone is interested! One is a bittersweet one shot and the other is a multi chapter Cyrano De Bergerac travesty that is just growing and growing out of control the deeper into it I get. I'd be happy with someone just proofreading for spelling and grammar, but I'd love someone who would let me bounce ideas around and give me honest feedback on it.


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